A King Shall Rise
by Addai
Summary: The Landsmeet brings a Dalish blood mage and the heir to the Fereldan throne to a crossroads of the country's fate and of their love for one another.  Story 8 of Idun's cycle.


_A big thank you to all of those reading and reviewing! You're the best. As always, the world and character templates belong to BioWare. -A._

In the flock of colorfully dressed nobles that passed by them like rare birds in the palace foyer, no one looked or felt more out of place than the two Wardens. Idun had repaired her leathers and repainted the elvish symbols on them, but this only made her seem more at odds. She was perhaps the only Dalish elf most of these nobles had ever seen. As for Alistair, they had fitted him for a set of dragonbone armor and he wielded his father's sword, recovered from the ruins of Ostagar on the way back from killing Flemeth. Nevertheless most of the nobles hadn't known of his existence until recently and certainly did not consider him one of their own.

Fashion or station were the least of their worries, however. Even if the two Wardens didn't end up on an executioner block by the end of the day, the outcome would certainly end their lives as they had known them. Eamon was determined to see Alistair put on the throne if the Landsmeet allowed it. Idun tried not to think about the prophecy Flemeth had made to her many years ago: _A king shall rise and a great darkness shall fall on your word. _ Death or ruling the kingdom, and Alistair's fate might come down to her actions. After all they had been through, it seemed to Idun a terrible irony that their fates would be decided amidst the smell of saddle oil and Orlesian perfume rather than smoke and darkspawn filth.

Eamon's voice ringing out in the chamber was their signal to enter. He wanted to have the first word and then allow Alistair's entrance to make a splash before Loghain could take the floor. With Alistair's resemblance to Maric and Cailan now obvious to those who knew to look, it was guaranteed to be theatrical.

Alistair turned and grasped Idun's shoulders. "Whatever happens in there, know this: I love you. I'll _always_ love you."

"And I you." They kissed briefly, clasped hands for what might be the last time, then turned to enter the hall.

* * *

That night Idun found herself alone in her room at Eamon's estate without any notion how she had gotten there. She had bathed and changed from her Dalish ceremonial armor into a simple wool dress, but neither the fire in the hearth nor her pacing could dispel the chill.

"I lost you all," she told the empty room. Tamlen's face swam before her, then it was replaced by another. This was a figure she had never actually seen but had begun to imagine often. He was a little taller than her, with eyes like hers, a quick smile, long dark hair partly braided, clad in a dark cloak with an ancient amulet about his neck.

The thought of him pained her somehow more deeply than all the others. "You should have been the one to teach me. Not Marethari, and not _her_. If you had been our keeper, you would never have taken me to the witch, not even for the good of the clan. Not your own daughter. But I lost you. I lost all of you." The image dissolved into that of her mother, ghost-like and with her back turned, walking away into a forest. Then Tamlen again, then her father again.

The door opened and Idun whirled to see Alistair standing in the doorway. He had stayed behind in the palace to confer with Eamon, and somewhere along the way had washed and changed into silk tunic and trousers. Despite the fine clothes he looked a fright, with nicks and gashes on his face and a large bandage at his neck.

In the space of a second they crossed to one another and a storm broke in Idun. Tears spilled from her eyes and she held his arms, not letting him embrace her. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Why did they make me do that? It wasn't fair. I'm Dalish, I should never have had to... I'm so sorry, Alistair."

Alistair used her grip on his arms to guide her to the bed, gently forcing her to sit with him. His own eyes were glassy with tears. Reaching up to cup her face in his hands, he spoke in a voice thick with emotion but still firm. "There were two things I feared most about today, Idi. One was that some harm might come to you, and the other was that I might end up king after all. Loghain got what was coming to him, the army is marching to fight against the Blight, and I'm free of a fate that I never wanted and never asked for. Tell me, love, what exactly are you apologizing for?"

His mouth pulled in a grin and he drew Idun close, pressing kisses to her cheek and along her jaw as though tasting her tears. Somewhere in the midst of it, she began to believe that he meant what he had said, that he really did forgive her for handing the crown to Anora when the Landsmeet had asked her to settle a deadlock, even after the queen had betrayed them in the assembly. The Dalish Warden had stood in front of all those human nobles, Alistair's eyes on her, with Flemeth's prophecy echoing in her mind again and again. At last she came to realize that the abomination was still controlling her from wherever its cursed spirit now lurked. If Idun would not be bound by Flemeth, she certainly would not bind Alistair to the witch's words, either. So long as Anora was willing to end the civil war and let Alistair go free, the queen could have her crown. As Alistair often said, it was a noose, not a garland.

They were free. The Blight could take them in a day or a week, but even if it was only the respite of one night, they had survived Loghain's brutality, Anora's treachery, and Eamon's manipulations. A sudden rush of relief after the agony of that day and the built-up agony of the past months was overwhelming. In unison Idun and Alistair lay back, each helping the other move clothing out of the way until they were locked together again in a kiss and in a tangle of limbs. After a quick and fierce release, they lay side by side, cautious smiles on their faces.

Idun reached out a fingertip towards one of the cuts on his face and, sobering with concentration, caused it to shrink and close. Then her fingertip moved towards the next cut.

"Marry me."

Idun was so intent on her healing that it took her a moment to realize what Alistair had said. Her finger stopped and hovered in the air a few moments. Finally she stood up, allowing her skirt to fall back into place as she stepped towards the fire. Fielding for something to say, she stammered, "Aren't you even a little bit upset about not being named king? All your life they told you that you were a nobody, and in the end when you nearly got your birthright, I took it away."

Alistair stood and followed her, his tone adamant. "What I was told all my life was that I couldn't choose for myself. Go to the Chantry, become a templar, play royal heir. Now in the most important thing ever, I _do_ have a choice, and you are what I want most of all. The world might be about to end, and I want to make you mine, really mine. Maybe it doesn't mean anything to you, but it does to me. Unless you... do you...do you not want me?"

"It's not that simple, Alistair." Idun sighed in frustration, thinking of all the reasons why it would make his life complicated to be with her. At last she pulled out the one that, after what had happened that day, seemed most prominently dire. Turning, she began, "Even if you aren't king, I'm still a blood mage..."

"That again!" He veered from pleading to exasperated, clutching both her hands. "Weren't you paying attention in there? All those nobles, high and mighty as they are, were looking to _you_ to counsel them. They're looking at you now to lead an army. You're not hiding anymore, Idi! You're not a refugee in a forest somewhere!" Before she could say anything, he reached up to touch her cheek and lowered his voice. "If you want to know what I fear, it's not templars hunting you or the Chantry's disapproval, as if I hadn't gotten plenty of that already all on my own. It's that I might actually live through this but not wake up in the morning to see you lying beside me."

"Alistair..." Tears were coming to Idun's eyes again, but this time she was smiling.

He began to smile cautiously, too, sensing that she had softened. "Is that a yes?" Tilting his head, he leaned towards her, smile turning rakish. "You know you can't resist me. You might as well give in."

Face flushed, Idun dropped her eyes and tried to suppress her laughter. The thin thread of hope that they could have a future together was something that, in these past months of fighting and death and with the looming uncertainty of the Landsmeet, she had not dared to consider. It was something that she and Tamlen had taken for granted until it was too late. This last was the thought that pushed her past all her fears and foreboding. Mouth curling in a half-smile, she raised her head again. "Then I bow to the inevitable."

With a whoop Alistair leaned forward to kiss her, scooping her up off her feet into a bear hug. In the process, his neck bandage slipped out of place and blood began to ooze from the gash.

"You're hurt," Idun protested as he released her. "Let me fix that."

"Later. Got an elf to marry just now." He slapped the bandage back in place, pulled a laughing Idun over to the set of chairs at the hearth and sat facing her with their hands clasped. Eyes shining, Alistair gestured with his head. "Go on, then. You first. Say your words to me, like you would say them if you were marrying someone in your clan."

"What, just like that? We should have witnesses..."

Alistair shook his head. "No, let's do it now. We can tell the others tomorrow, but I don't want to wait another moment. In the war with Orlais, rebel soldiers would marry just like this if they couldn't find a priestess who was safe. We're in a war, too, and I don't want to wait. I'll find a way to get us in the Chantry rolls later, I don't care who I have to bribe, but this is for us."

Idun's head was spinning and she fought to clear it. What the Chantry might think about their marriage meant nothing to her, though she doubted her name would ever appear in their rolls. Nor would this bonding be accepted among her own people. That was something she had already admitted to herself. Whether the gods would even hear her on this matter she didn't know, but resolute, she cleared her throat and began to recite what she could remember of the Dalish wedding blessing. It was not a promise of fidelity; that was taken as a given, and the true vow in the consummation and not in words. Before the clan, however, the couple joined in asking a blessing of the gods on their bond. This Idun did, reciting the prayers in elvish. One by one she invoked the gods to bless their bond, all except Fen'Harel the Deceiver.

At last she came to her patroness, Sylaise, hearth-mother and the source of fire and magical healing. Taking Alistair's hand, she whispered to him to trace her tattoo with his finger. The tattoo was a symbol of Sylaise written in Idun's flesh. It was part of her, so it would be part of their marriage, too. She slid forward and put her hands at his waist, waiting for him to begin. Alistair smiled, awkward at first, but once he began tracing his finger along the lines of her cheek and forehead, his expression turned serious. Idun wondered if he was thinking of the times he used to do this very thing while they lay together in her tent, not realizing what it meant. As his finger moved across her face, she did her best to translate the last blessing into the king's tongue, even though it sounded unlovely to her.

"And may Sylaise the hearthkeeper make our bond a home for us wherever our paths wander; give us a fire to warm us; give us the healing balm of love and of forgiveness of wrongs small and large. So we ask, and so is witnessed, for Idun Mahariel of Clan Grey Warden, and Alistair Theirin of Clan Grey Warden." Idun fell silent as Alistair let his hand fall back to his lap, and took a deep breath to steady herself. Quietly she explained, "I told the gods that I take you as my bondmate and asked them to witness it and to bless us."

Alistair leaned forward and drew her hand to his lips, closing his eyes and kissing her fingers. His words were a warm murmur against her skin. "I can't believe this is happening, I really can't. After everything... Thank you, Idun." He remained like that a long moment with eyes closed. Finally, opening them, he gave her a mischievous grin. "Go ahead and ask me now if I would rather be king. Ask me if they could offer me a dozen kingdoms to give this up. Right, my turn. Let's see. I... Uh, I... Maker. I have _no_ idea what part of the Chant is used at weddings. I haven't even been to a wedding since... well, I guess since I crashed one in the village Chantry when I was eight."

Idun laughed at the image. "Just say what you want to. This is for us, remember?"

"Great, me of the silver tongue. This ought to be good." Alistair's grin sobered and he ran a hand across his hair, eyes downcast in thought. Finally he started, voice earnest and steady. "While I was growing up in the castle and later in the monastery, all I really wanted was to fit in somewhere, to belong. I never had a family of my own, you know that. I now realize that I didn't even know what it meant to love another person or to be loved back. Not ever." His eyes met hers. "Now I do know what that means, and it's absolutely everything to me. I told you I wanted you to be the last and that's what I meant. I promise to always try to be a man you would be proud of. I, Alistair of the Grey Wardens, take you, Idun Mahariel, to be my wife. I ask the Maker to make me a good husband to you. And I hope... I hope you won't be disappointed with me."

By this time Idun's throat was tight with emotion and she could say nothing, only nod, eyes shimmering with tears. Both of them stood and drew in close to one another, suddenly shy though they had been making love only moments before. It all seemed different, however, and they were almost as awkward again as they had been at first. Leaning down, Alistair touched his lips to hers very tenderly. They both stepped into the kiss and let it linger a while longer, chaste and thoughtful, earnest. The shyness began to dissipate quickly, but before their embrace could become more heated, Idun pulled back.

"Your wounds. Now. Sit."

"Yes ser, Warden Commander." Alistair laughed, his face flush with excitement. He slipped off the silk tunic and re-took his chair. Only then did Idun see the bruises from where Loghain had driven Alistair's armor into his flesh with desperate blows as the once-hero fought to retain his dignity and ultimately his life. Noting her wince, Alistair shook his head, his expression hardening and his voice turning strident and proud. "It's nothing. I know I usually moan about such things, but I don't even feel these. I would have taken a lot worse punishment than this to see him pay for what he did to Duncan."

Idun made no reply, only set about bandaging his wounds, her expression grave. It was not only the memory of the duel that weighed on her, as terrifying as it had been to see the two warriors caging each other like prey and to hear metal ring on metal. Mention of it reminded her of what else had gone on in those agonizing moments, however. Alistair had forgiven her readily enough for handing the crown to Anora, but Idun did not think he would so easily forgive her for what else she had done that day, nor for what she had been prepared to do.

Anora had come out before the Landsmeet accusing the two Wardens of slandering Loghain and undermining Ferelden. The nobles still found in favor of them, but the chamber was so unsettled that they had been forced to accept the duel to pacify Loghain's forces. While Alistair fought the Hero of River Dane, Idun fought on another front. A few people near Anora turned to look when she clutched at her forehead at one point during the fight, but this was completely forgotten upon Alistair's victory and his summary execution of Loghain.

Among their many fabled skills, the blood mages of the powerful Tevinter Imperium had perfected the ability to control others' minds. It was the principal reason that blood magic had been forbidden by the Chantry and was so feared. This was a skill that Idun had never before attempted to use, though she knew of its basics. During the duel, when Idun knew that everyone would be distracted, she began drawing from her own life force to reach into the mind of the queen. It was only a test to see if she could do it, but she had been prepared to do much more than that if the need arose. If the duel had not gone their way, if there had been any sign that Loghain or Anora intended to execute Alistair, she intended to seize control of their minds and see that it did not happen. She could not bear to lose Alistair as she had lost Tamlen, as she had lost her parents. It was only the mercy of the gods that there had been no need for her to cross that terrible line.

Idun looked up at Alistair, her tone suddenly urgent. "Promise me that if we survive all of this, we will leave Ferelden. I know you want to make light of the fact that I am an apostate, a maleficar to everyone else, but it is not only for that reason that we are not safe. You will always be a threat to Anora even though you renounced your claim to the throne. She backed off for now because she needs troops, but you saw her today. She may change her mind later and I don't want to be around if she does. Promise me, Alistair." Someday she would tell him that she was afraid not only for their lives, but also afraid of herself.

Alistair appeared both perplexed at the abrupt turn of conversation and somewhat reluctant, but finally nodded. "Alright, we can leave. I always thought it would be nice to see a bit of the world anyway. I don't care where we go, so long as you're with me. But we have a Blight to defeat first, remember?"

She could hardly forget. _A king shall rise and a great darkness shall fall on your word._ Idun had turned the tables on the first part of the witch's prophecy, but the latter part of the prophecy was one she intended to see fulfilled. She could not help but wonder, however, what might be asked of her to see it done.

Then, Alistair was pulling her to her feet and his lips were on her neck, fingers tugging at the fabric of her dress to move it aside. At the touch of warm breath on her collarbone, the tension fell from Idun like a shed cloak. Drawing him back to the bed, Idun placed her hands over his bruised ribs and allowed a gentle warmth to seep through her fingers into his skin. The ugly red-purple welts visibly receded and Alistair flinched at the sensation, though not in pain. Idun soon found that she had no more thought to spare for witches or shemlen politics.

Sometime in the night, she was dragged from bed by her new husband and, both of them half-naked, made to steal into Eamon's kitchens to pillage a gooseberry pie from the larder. Both agreed it was the best wedding cake they could have asked for.


End file.
